Anniversary
by grainweevil
Summary: Still stuck in the 80s, Alex reflects on her relationship on its two year anniversary. Very short, possibly sweet, altogether silly.


**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. Kudos, the Beeb, Monastic, I know not who exactly, but definitely not mine.

**A/N:** Alex reflects on her relationship on its two year anniversary. As ever, the Muse made me do it.

Thanks once again to Lucida Bright, beta reader to, erm... practically everyone.

**Anniversary**

I suppose, in hindsight, it was always going to happen. He made no secret of what he thought of me, right from the very first day. Of course, back then, I was insulted; you just don't hear that sort of thing in 2008. Later, when I knew him better, I learnt to take them as compliments. Clumsy, frequently coarsely-worded, eye roll-inducing compliments, yes, but you adjust to these things. It's probably over a year now since I last slapped him for pinching my bum.

It was the slap that started to change things. No, not so much the slap. The punch. I still don't really know where that came from; it was all instinct, which isn't like me usually. But then very little of 1980s Alex would be recognisable in 2008. However, instinct got it right, and after that punch our relationship subtly changed. Not just a posh bird, bossing him around, but someone who could talk his language, someone he could respect. We actually started to work together pretty well. Not that it was all sweetness and light even then. When I borrowed the Quattro, for instance, things didn't go entirely according to plan. But we got over it.

Two years though. Two years today since we finally got our act together. Can't quite believe it. It's not as though it didn't take long enough. But it's difficult, isn't it? Working together, the difference in rank, office gossip. I know he was particularly anxious about that. Still is. Even now, here I am sitting at our table, waiting for him, and I'm in the seat with my back to the door. Simply so he can sit with _his_ back to the rest of CID; out of sight, out of mind. He talks a big game, but when it matters he's really a very private man. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he's kissed me in public. Really kissed me, not just a peck on the cheek. Of course it got too complicated in the end, and we agreed one of us would have to transfer somewhere else. It was always going to be me, wasn't it? Oh, it made sense; after all you don't move to a completely new city with your mates and then up and leave them just for a bird, do you? But still, it rankles a bit. I miss them all at Fenchurch East. It's not the same, only seeing them here in Luigi's.

Who'd have thought it? Up-ending my life for a neanderthal Northern copper. My afterlife, anyway. I can still remember listening to Sam's taped description of him and thanking God that I'd never have to meet someone like that. Never mind work with them. The idea of ever... It was just preposterous. But Sam's relationship with him was so different.

It was his eyes that finally cracked my resolve. I've no idea to this day what prompted it, but one Monday morning he came into CID, freshly shaved and with his hair cut short. All of a sudden I was intensely conscious of those incredible blue eyes. How I managed to remain standing upright as an apparently functioning DI, I've no idea. I was a puddle on the floor. That's was it really, shallow as it sounds; I was a done deal. It was just a matter of time.

A hand on my shoulder. Gene. I look up with a smile.

"Evening, Bollinger Knickers," he says, briskly pecking me on the cheek. "Already started on the booze then?"

I pull a face. He knows damn well how much I detest the full nickname. What with that and a dig at my alcohol intake. _Mine_. The nerve.

"Where's Ray?"

"Just coming. Had a busy day today, unlike you pen pushers at the Yard."

He grins and gathers up the Scotch that Luigi has already lined up for him. He leans back against the bar and regards me thoughtfully.

"Two years," he says.

I give a nod of agreement.

"Life's full of surprises," he muses, sipping at the whisky.

Again, I can only agree. He's giving me that look again. Even after all this time, despite how well we know each other, he can still leave me not knowing quite where to look. I don't give him the satisfaction of turning away, although I know I've gone red, and he grins again.

Another hand on my shoulder. Ray.

"Hello, love," he says, and plants a kiss on my mouth

I catch a glimpse of Gene's face out of the corner of my eye. He's half amused. I query Ray with a raise of my eyebrows.

"If I can't kiss my bird on our anniversary, when can I?" He says.

**The End**


End file.
